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Anachronism
'EDC HQ - Underground Barracks - ' Deep underground in the frozen wastes of Siberia, the EDC Barracks lives up to the sterile reputation of the land. Upon emerging from the GroundBridge, one will find halls snaking off in all directions, each differentiated by regiment and company. Rank and file troopers are four to a room, with two bunks in each. Officers and elite personnel can have their own room and personalize it to their desires. Entrance to the surface is through a long, lonely elevator ride leading to a camouflaged hatch. Going down deeper takes one to the base's command bunker. It is very cold in Siberia, and numerous maintenance shafts and crawlspaces are not heated, meaning the pipes and conduits are often covered in frost. The Siberia base has little offensive weapons, but is nigh invulnerable to surface assaults, meaning it can always hold out until reinforcements arrive via the GroundBridge. Obvious exits: leads to Siberia. leads to EDC HQ - Ground Bridge Hub - . Apocryphacius is in one of those unheated crawlspaces, checking on the ventilation. For now, he is essentially on 'base arrest', but given that the base spans the globe courtesy of First Aid's groundbridge, the Quintesson at least has a variety of places he could be. This one is definitely not his favourite. He definitely prefers warmer weather. As he checks for signs of ice infiltrating cracks and causing damage to the shaft, eh thinks about how easy it would be to design an indoor weather machine that would cause little tornados in the bunks of people he does not like. Just imagine, 'it looks like a tornado came through here!' just before inspection time. Then Apocryphacius pauses and shakes himself, shivering in the cold. Who thinks like that? Indoor tornadoes? That's crazy and completely a disproportionate response! It would just be so easy, he thinks. It's quiet, but thankfully not totally deserted even around these access tunnels. With infiltrators like Laserbeak and Ravage on the prowl, regular patrols are as important as ever, particularly in the aftermath of this Franklin Cross business. Naturally, unlike in the movies, these patrols are conducted in pairs or small groups such as in this case as a couple of exo-suited soldiers thud in the hallway past, pausing to flash their lights in through a crack in the floor to have a look at the source of movement. On seeing the familiar ovoid figure within, they wordlessly continue on their patrol again. Nothing to see here. The sound of their metallic footsteps soon gives way to the distant hum of power and machinery, and the faint dripping of condensation from cold pipes that have entered a heated area of the base. And then it begins. A faint, almost inaudible tick-tick-ticking noise in the background. So faint it could be ignored at first, but slowly, oh so slowly growing louder with each passing moment. Apocryphacius does wear a hang-badge, for whatever it is worth. (Not much.) He pauses at the patrol and then moves on. So far, all of the cracks he has checked have been within normal tolerances. Nothing needs pressing maintenance, which makes sense, given that the base is new. Someday, the drips will leave trails of erosion behind them, but that is a long day away from now. Apocryphacius starts thinking about what to do about the problem of EDI, but his thoughts keep derailing. Eventually, he realizes why: something is ticking. "Oh," he says, breath turning to frost before him, "that is worrying." Tick tick tick. The sound grows louder, an ever rhythmic tapping noise that continues without pause. The echoing of the noise through the maintenance tunnels makes it difficult to pinpoint, until finally it is so close that it can not be coming from anywhere else other than around the nearest corner. It is then that the ticking slows for a moment, giving way to the occasional distant tap sound...a dark shape finally looming into view as it appears from around the corner. Cloaked in shadows as the lighting down here is dim. ...but even the shadow carries with it an ovoid shape to its surface, even the darkness unable to hide the occasional writhing of a thin tendril in the air...and of course, the single grim Quintesson face set in the center of the ovoid shape that happens to emerge into the light, staring straight at Apocryphacius. A moment of silence hangs in the air, the tendrils of the other figure twining slowly to and fro. "Greetings," The figure finally speaks after what seems like an eternity. Apocryphacius does the logical thing and pulls out some of his sensing equipment. Might just be a drip that echoing weirdly and - no, that is definitely not a drip, though that is sort of oval shaped, like a drip. Apocryphacius stares dumbly, his train of thought completely derailing, a distressing feeling that is happening an awful lot lately. If the other figure is a Quintesson of a remotely normal background, there are things that are off about Apocryphacius's posturing and expressions. He does not move as he should. He does not veil his thoughts and emotions in at least three layers of misdirection. He really is as stunned as he looks. After what feels like an eternity, Apocrypphacius asks, "Are you, uhm, one of General Cross's contractors?" It sounds dumb to him as he says it. The way he enunciates is not right for a Quintesson, too, his accent all wrong. The overall effect is likely almost Uncanny Valley, of some artificial creature trying to be a Quintesson and not quite succeeding. Beyond that, he is simply a sad excuse for his species, marked by scars and prone to illness. Fragile. "I am not," the answer to the question comes in a calm and steady tone. Like the careful tone one would use to attempt to placate a nervous child. The ovoid figure remains relatively hidden by the shadows, save for the one face revealed by the shafts of light that do filter through here. If Apocryphacius' demeanor and appearance are decidedly anti-Quintesson, the figure before him seems to betray no surprise, revulsion or reaction of any sort. One might almost get the sense that the terran-raised Quint is -exactly- what the other was expecting to see. "You need not fear me. I am unarmed, and incapable of harming you." the odd Quint continues after a moment, his two main tendrils sliding into full view, showing scars and pockmarks on the green textured surface and, most importantly, that they are empty. "I came here only to speak with you." Apocryphacius puts away his sensing equipment for now and reaches for his radio. There is a bit of fear in him. It would be unwise not to be afraid. However, more strongly than the fear, at least at the moment, there is curiosity. It is not often that he sees anything that looks remotely like what he sees in the mirror. He replies nervously, "No? I have to call this in to the shift captain." Not one of the late General Cross's contractors? What is the other Quintesson /doing/ here, then? Apocryphacius really cannot be that interesting, can he? "You are, of course, inclined to do so. But if you must, then I must depart and no more words may be shared between us. It is no secret the only reaction that will result from my presence. I do not attempt to deceive you and claim I am something I am not, nor that I am authorized to be here. Had I the choice, I would have approached you somewhere less controversial, but I was given little choice. It would appear you are not permitted to leave the premesis, and as the shift in...administration for the Terran defense forces has retaken a decidedly more...hostile one to our kind, I was left with no alternatives." The figure shifts slightly, a bit more light playing over the top of the egg shaped dome, revealing the metallic surface but also scores of pockmarks, old blast wounds and countless other scuffings and apparent self-repairs too numerous to mention. Odd. "You will of course have to report this, though I ask if you would indulge an old Quint just long enough to share dialogue before making your report. It has been...a very, very long time since I have spoken with another like me. In fact, I suspect you and I may be much more alike than you realize." "Yes, I know much about you. And yes, I am resourceful enough to have found my way here to you. I make no claims or excuses otherwise. Would it help..." the shadowed Quint speaks quietly, his voice as calm and even as it ever was, tendrils twining together slightly in the first hint of some emotion, or apprehension as he starts to make an offer, "...if I were to shed this cloak of darkness I wear and offer a proper introduction? Be warned, my appearance may be...startling." Apocryphacius's curiosity nags at him insistently and wars with his duty. He should click on that radio and call the shift captain. There is an unauthorized person compromising the base. They are in a service duct. If the other Quintesson kills him, it will be a while before he is found, and the toher will be free to do whatever it is he is planning. The other Quintesson did not have to reveal himself, though. He could have had the run of the base, apparently. What he wants, evidently, is to talk to Apocryphacius, and Apocryphacius should deny that want. Then he thinks about the tubes on Mars. Does he really know how General Faireborn is going to react? Could Apocryphacius personally ensure that the prisoner would be treated fairly? No, he personally could not. He would just have to put faith in the EDC. His faces switch around, and Apocryphacius says flatly, "Go on." Apocryphacius transforms into his Apocryphacius mode. "Do not be surprised, by what you see," the other Quint continues, before that ticking noise begins again. Much more rapid, and much louder this time. And the reason for it becomes clear a moment later, as the first of four long white curved surfaces emerge into view. Bones? -Legs-? As if that wasn't bad enough, the rest of him emerges a moment later, fully into the light and standing before Apocryphacius. "My name is Archaeonix. And like you, I have spent much time on this world. Though in my case..." Slowly, deliberately, he cycles his body around. Face, to face, to face, letting the young Quint before him get a good look at each one until it settles back on his original face again. "...it has been a very. Very long time." Archaeonix has arrived. ''Archaeonix '' Here is the familiar form of a Quintesson consisting of the ovoid shaped body, five faces and five dangling tentacles that brush the ground, but all semblance of 'normal' for this race ends at this point. The egg shaped metal body is covered in dings, patchwork repairs and countless scratches and scuffs, as if having undergone jury-rigging and crude maintenance for who knows how long. Four of the five faces are much different than what one would expect, each carrying a different skull as an adornment... Tyrannosaurus. Anger. Triceratops. Stoicism. Sabertooth Tiger. Cunning. Mastodon. Wisdom The Fifth face is unmodified and normal, looking like the only untouched 'normal' Quintesson adornment to the egg shaped body. Where other Quintessons move around on a single thruster/antigravity unit mounted in their undersides, this particular individual lacks such adornments, having long since removed it and replaced it with a crude mechanical construct that operates four spindly spider-like legs that give him locomotion to get wherever he needs to go. Curiously, the legs are not made of metal, but giant curved bones taken from the ribs of a Sauropod... Apocryphacius 's first reaction is somewhat incongruous. He asks, "...do you mind if I carbon-date you? You could probably apply for legal Terran citizenship if you have been on the planet since before humanity evolved. There is precedent." What? The guy has dinosaur bones on him! This was definitely the most pressing thing to ask. Yes. "Precedent perhaps, but pardon me if I prefer to remain...incognito." Archaeonix settles down on his 'spider legs' somewhat, relaxing his stance as he cannot simply float leisurely on an anti gravity thruster like other Quints. "Even before the great turmoil that the world governments of this Terran planet are engaged in following recent events, I would not be inclined to approach them. It is no secret our kind are not typically looked upon kindly, save for the rare mutually beneficial exception." He rubs two tendrils together at that, not elaborating on what he's referring to. "I am that much more disinclined for others to know of my existence as I would likely be immediately petitioned to be taken into custody. Naturally of course, the Cybertronians would be quick to attempt to take what little freedom I have away from me, and I am not quite so inclined to trust myself to Terran protection as you are." A pause, a heartbeat in time. "No offense meant, of course. We are similar in some ways, though different in others." Archaeonix's body spins for a moment, coming to rest upon the Sabertooth's face as two glowing red optics peer out from within the empty skull, "Would that I could tell you the whole story right now, but I fear that it will have to wait for the next time. As the patrol that passed earlier is due back here shortly, and I must be gone by their arrival." Another shifting of his body, and it comes to rest on the Mastodon, "In truth, though we technically have all the time in the world, time is still running out. It is imperitive that I must discuss with you soon, regarding the fate of our very species. You may not think you are pivotal, but you may yet have an important role to play, and you are the -only- one on this world with whom I could speak of this in confidence, for obvious reasons." Another spin, back to his 'Quint' face. "I wanted to make you aware of my presence, here and now, while I had the opportunity. What you wish to do with this information is up to you, of course. But I implore you to entertain the notion of another dialogue in the future, when I possess more time to explain." Another pause, and the old Quintesson turns to one side, as if becoming aware that his time is all but up. His spindly spider-legs shifting a bit more, scuttling a few paces as he's no doubt preparing to make his departure. "Choose what you will, young Apocryphacius. But know that I will -only- speak with you of this, and you alone." The optics of his face flash once, brightly. "As the only other Quintesson on this world, you are the only one I can trust." And with that hanging in the air, the tick-tick-ticking takes up in rapid stacatto as he begins to scuttle away once more. Just as the heavy footsteps of the exo-troopers can be heard approaching again from the opposite direction, as Archaeonix begins to melt back into the shadows, the last sight of him being one tendril snaking around the corner and out of sight. Apocryphacius considers current events. General Faireborn just released a press statement to the world that, yes, the EDC tried to blow up Cybertron. Does Achaeonix think Apocryphacius was involved in that, somehow? (Just how much does Archaeonix know about Apocryphacius, anyway?) Bitterly, he says lowly to the retreating figure, "...I actively thwarted General Cross's attempt to destroy Cybertron. That may come as some disappointment to you." Perhaps he is being uncharitable in judging the other Quintesson. Then Apocryphacius brings a pair of tentacles up to the tear-lines carven in his mask, and he contemplates, as the patrol nears. Their base has serious flaws in it, obviously, that other enemies could exploit. His faces shift around, and he clicks on his radio to report... "...yes, there was... something here, sir. Vanished before I could fully evaluate. I recommend a full security check. If whatever it was could get in..." Apocryphacius transforms into his Apocryphacius mode. = EDC Message: 22/19 Posted Author Security Report: Siberia Mon Nov 19 Apocryphacius ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ There's a report filed about how, during a routine maintenance sweep of the maintenance shafts in the Siberia base, Private Apocryphacius sounded a security alert about some sort of unknown intruder. A detailed security search turned up absolutely nothing. The shift captain makes the suggestion that the Quintesson has 'lost it' and has duly passed the paperwork problem onto someone else up the chain. = NEST = Message: 15/1 Posted Author Information Request Wed Nov 21 Apocryphacius ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ It's Apocryphacius, and he is filing an information request. The Quintesson appears and asks quietly, "If the Autobots know anything about a Quintesson with, ah, sauropod bone spider-legs, one normal face, and four fossil faces, who goes by the name of Archaeonix, I would be greatly obliged if they would speak with me. I... think I saw him? That is all. Thank you." The other and more likely option is simply that Apocryphacius has started hallucinating. That is what the EDC xenodoc thinks. The xenodoc urged Apocryphacius to file the information request, though, just in case, even though the Quintesson was reticent. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: Amber MacKenzie Date: Thu Nov 22 05:59:49 2012 Folder: 0 Message: 100 Status: Read Subject: Quintesson ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- No, you're not seeing things. The Quintesson's name is Archaeonix, and he is a specialist in temporal manipulation. In brief, the man is suffering from extreme MPD, and the other, very aggressive personalities dominate the "gestalt". Torque can give you the details. OOC: And don't you dare get him to manipulate time to get Xabat back! ;) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- = NEST = Message: 15/2 Posted Author Re: Information Request Thu Nov 22 Torque ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ *TEXT ONLY* Apocryphacius, please contact me at your earliest convenience so we can meet. I want to speak with you about this Archaeonix, as I have some information myself. -Torque